LOS ANGELES — As a Mexican American, I love being from two worlds. I feel lucky to have been born in Florida, growing up in a beachside city in all the state's humid glory. I feel proud knowing how to make tamales and enchiladas and rooting for two soccer teams during the World Cup.
But recently, I've been wondering whether there's more to who I am.
My mother was born in Ñuu Snuviko, also known as San Juan Mixtepec, a small pueblo in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. It translates to the "place where the clouds descend" in Mixteco, my mother's native language. Surrounded by small farms in a narrow valley, the town of about 7,000 people clings to a gravel road running from the base of the highlands to the plaza, El Centro. On Fridays, El Centro comes alive with a market.
